Caleb had approached:
“My gracious lord,” said Caleb, “your Sabæan amulets have no doubt inspired you with a favourable dream. You must have your dream expounded. But not by the hierogrammats.... Look, the dreamers are crowding in front of them. There is no reaching them. You must have your dream expounded by a most holy prophet, by Amphris, the centenarian.... Come with me, let me lead you to him....” He took Lucius by the hand. “It costs half a talent, no less,” said Caleb. “Thirty minæ, my lord. But then Amphris will expound your dreams for you, Amphris, the holy Amphris. The hierogrammats charge ten or twenty drachmæ. But they can never tell it as the holy Amphris, the prophet does. This is where he sits enthroned, my lord.”
They were standing in front of a small pyramid, on one of the upper terraces. Two sphinxes beside the narrow door lay like mysterious stone sentinels. Temple-keepers guarded the gate.
“The most holy Amphris?” Caleb asked.
“Forty minæ,” said one of the priests.
“Why not a talent right away?” grumbled Caleb.
“Forty minæ,” repeated the priest.
Caleb took the gold coins from the long purse at his girdle and slipped them into the priest’s hand:
“Enter, my lord,” he said, pointing to the open door.
Lucius entered. Seated on a throne was an old man who looked like a god of age and wisdom. Lucius himself was as beautiful as a young god. A strange light, as of soft moons, shone from blue globes. Lucius bowed to the ground, fell upon his knees and kissed the floor. He remained in this position.